


A Comedy of Hours

by A_Vexing_Hex



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Anarchy, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Public Sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Vexing_Hex/pseuds/A_Vexing_Hex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His long fingers quest for something, anything to hold onto as the world comes crashing in around him."</p><p>(Surprisingly, asked to repost this from Tumblr. I'm honored! I rather like the piece, though it was written quickly...bear with me!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Comedy of Hours

His long fingers quest for something, anything to hold onto as the world comes crashing in around him. They find nothing but the smooth surface of stone.

Time in Asgard is a joke. Amongst his people, Gods and Goddesses eternal, Princes and Kings that grow old but never truly die…time is irrelevant. Legacies and heroic tales keep those that want to live forever immortal.

Nevertheless, time has never felt so eternal to Loki. Slow and measured, as he aches and squirms against the pillar in front of him, as his body is slowly taken apart by the fingers that quest within him. Time is intimate, and disarming, and strangely fulfilling, he finds, as a groan spills from his lips without his permission.

He wishes Thor would just get it over with, and drive himself home. The Trickster glances over his shoulder and gives a slight frown at the blonde. He supposes he should be thankful that he’s even being given the blessing of preparation to begin with, considering this  _is_  his daft fool of a brother he’s dealing with, after all. But his body is crying out for something more than just a mere prodding. This is just a caress.

Those same long fingers, once scraping across stone for anything to hold onto, clench into Thor’s hair and tug, hard, forward to bring Thor’s head close to his ear.

Loki gives a pleased smirk at the snarling grunt Thor emits. Finally. Something to grip onto.

“I grow impatient with your fumbling, brother.”

“Then use your own fingers on your own time.”

A frown. This was not expected, not wanted, or needed. He pulls harder and is rewarded with more of that pretty, growling music. “If you want to keep playing this game of ours, then you need to be a  _good boy_  and follow the rules.”

And Thor responds with that asinine, horrible smirk. The one he knows Loki hates, the one that makes time, fickle as it may be, skip another beat. His free arm shoves the smaller man closer to the pillar, pinning him there still as his lips part to murmur. “This is part of the game. Your favorite part…

“The one you wanted.”

Loki’s eyes roll at that. He wants lust. He wants the edge, the satisfying burn deep in his belly that can only come from the most intimate form of coupling. Not a tease. He most certainly did not want thi—

But then those three digits twist within him (and time  **throbs** ) and another one of those accursed moans plays from his throat. His own voice be damned!

The Golden Son of Odin, pinning his bastard brother against the column of…what was this building again? A “state building” of Midgard.

And Loki knows that any moment, some stupid human could come wandering around the corner, could call in those shiny-badged, puny uniformed legions that keep the streets of this realm “safe,” to attempt to have them arrested for such lewd acts in public. He knows it’s not  _normal_  for someone to be frotting with the pillar of a government building with his slacks down around his knees while someone plies their body apart.

But he doesn’t care, because time is slow, and there’s only Thor, Loki, and the cold, cold stone that tortures his sensitive, aching cock with an unpleasantly familiar coolness.

He finds himself ruthlessly tugging in Thor’s hair again and snarling at him.

“Are you going to do this until the sun rises, or are you going to serve your purpose and  _breed me_?”

His head turns to examine his brother’s reaction, arching his back against the thick, muscled arm that he allows to restrain him. Another stupid grin, and the blonde’s fingers stop their teasing motions. And then they are gone altogether.

Time freezes, and the night grows colder.

And Loki’s finally shoved properly against the building, discovering his body is much more full than it was a few moments ago.

Thor fell for it. The moron, imbecile, the fool. Loki convinces himself that all of this is his plot, his planning, and that only heats his body further as he meets the icy pillar in front of him with a bit of arching, bucking movement. His brother is relentless as usual, driving into him with abandon, panting into Loki’s ear, giving the occasional grunt of effort that makes the Trickster’s lips twitch slightly.

One of those thrusts strikes a certain point within Loki’s anatomy, and suddenly time isn’t so sluggish any more.

He writhes and bucks as those nerves are stimulated, constantly, dragged over and driven into, giving his own feral howl into the darkness that reverberates strangely off of the white stone as Thor’s teeth find his shoulder. Everything is bright and warm, warm even to his Jotun blood as bliss unfurls in his stomach, spreading to his chest and arms, causing him to pull harder in Thor’s hair, clawing at his scalp as he finds his ending quickly, and his brother soon after.

They move in concert for the last few moments, and then opposite, and then they part quickly. It’s a wonder no one has seen them, Loki thinks, and ponders on that for a few moments as he fastens his slacks back to where they were originally.

Loki turns, and meets his brother’s bright blue gaze. Those eyes seem to be searching for something within his own, and he gives a light smirk. “…….You really don’t want to return to your clubhouse, do you?”

“…”

That smirk dulls slightly at the lack of response. He turns and moves to stride away, his gait only slightly altered from the force of the fucking he had just recieved.

“When will we do this again?”

He pauses. The same question, every time. He sighs impatiently and runs a hand back through his dark hair, glancing idly off to the side. “You will wait for my call. As always.”

Thor is silent, contemplating that, as his brother strides away, his needs for the evening satisfied.

Days go by. Time flies. Hours pass.

He beckons, and Thor answers.


End file.
